


The Gift of Love

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Apocalyptic Sex Toys, Smut, Smut and Fluff, Smutty Saturday, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy gives Clarke a risky gift.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 16
Kudos: 164
Collections: Bellarke smut





	The Gift of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look. It's Saturday. Here's some smut. This is set in some miscellaneous early S4 kind of time. Thank you to Stormkpr for betaing it as always. Happy reading!

There's a room at Niylah's trading post that Bellamy has never entered. It looks small, and sort of dark, and it's set in a corner behind the clothing section. He decides that today is the day to explore it. Miller is taking forever to choose himself a new shirt, and Bellamy is bored. He pushes aside a sort of semi-sheer curtain, and sets out into the unknown.

Aha. Well. Now he understands why this was behind a curtain. This is clothing, but not like the clothing out in the main room. These garments are rather... skimpier. There are revealing articles of leather and lace, cuts of all kinds. Clothes that appear to be for women, others for men, and some that could probably work for both or neither.

In short, this is the lingerie section.

He doesn't know why he keeps exploring. He should probably just turn around and get out of here. But Miller has most likely still not chosen his shirt, and this apparently small room is turning out to be larger than Bellamy expected.

He walks further into the shadows, shimmies around a selection of corsets. And there, in the light of one dim lamp, he sees it.

Niylah also stocks a range of sex toys.

He supposes that shouldn't be surprising. The grounders are open and matter-of-fact about their sexual relationships. In a society that is liberal about a range of sex acts with partners of all genders and none, he supposes it's not a great leap of imagination to realise there would be a market for creative sex toys too. And some of these definitely are _creative_ – there are things he doesn't recognise, from his limited exposure to such items on the Ark. And then there are plenty of things he does recognise but wouldn't choose to use, such as restraints by the dozen and some things that look _sharp_.

But the thing that really catches his eye is the dildo.

There are many dildos in the collection. But there's only one he could possibly refer to as _the_ dildo. It almost looks like it could have been deliberately modelled on him, he thinks. It's exactly the right shape and size, and the polished dark stone almost reminds him of his own skin tone. Sure, his cock lists to the right a little, but apart from that it's a perfect copy.

He is seized by the overwhelming certainty that he needs to buy it for Clarke.

He knows that's maybe a bit much. He's been hooking up with her for scarcely a couple of weeks, has got together with her five times since they first screwed on her office couch, the night she wrote the list. He's aware that it's probably quite forward – or even overwhelming – to start buying sex toys for his best-friend-with-benefits.

But he figures it's now or never. The opportunity has presented itself, and the world will end soon. If he doesn't buy her a cheeky sexual gift today, when will he ever get the chance again? And besides which, he thinks it could be useful to her. He's away on missions like this quite often, sometimes staying the night, or else leaving really early or returning late. She's alone a lot. She might like to have a convenient dildo on hand.

He doesn't allow time to talk himself out of it. He grabs the dildo, tries to ignore how hard and heavy and _phallic_ it feels in his hand. If he stops to notice that, he'll realise what he's doing and come to his senses. And actually, he thinks this is one of those times when it's best just to trust his instincts. He conceals it carefully under his jacket, then strolls casually out through that semi-sheer curtain.

Miller's still engrossed in the shirt selection. Good. Bellamy doesn't want him to suspect a thing. Maybe that's a bit selfish, he wonders – he's not sure how much action Miller's been getting since he broke up with Bryan, so maybe he could use a mechanical aid or two of his own. But right now, embarrassment is winning out over charity, so Bellamy keeps walking.

He makes it to Niylah's desk. He furtively pulls aside his jacket, shows her what he's carrying.

"What do you want for this?" He asks. It feels like he's taking part in one of those illicit deals with Nygel, back on the Ark.

Niylah gives him an appraising look. She opens her mouth. She closes it again, frowning.

"What do you want to trade?" He repeats, growing ever more flustered.

"Nothing." She says firmly. "Just take care of Clarke."

He's past _flustered_ , now, and over half way to _glowing with shame_. He's trying to take care of Clarke in every way, both physical and emotional, but he's not entirely ready to actually talk about it.

"I try." He says, face growing hot. He wonders whether Niylah thinks his cock is sub-standard, and that's why he's buying this. Does it even matter if she does think that, seeing as cock size is really not everything? Does he honestly care about the opinion of some former hook-up of Clarke's? Does he want to tell her that it's the opposite – that he's buying this so Clarke can have a piece of him when he's not home?

No. He doesn't want to do any of that. He wants to get out of here and sit in the rover until Miller has chosen his damn shirt.

…...

Giving Clarke the dildo is going to be much easier than obtaining it was, he's pretty sure. He's comfortable with Clarke, almost confident in the relationship they seem to have started. And if all else fails, he can make it into a bit of a joke gift, can't he? A frivolous sex toy to bring a smile to her face.

That decided, he heads for her room that evening, as soon as he arrives home.

"I got you something." He says, on entering the room.

Her face lights up with a blend of joy and surprise. "You did? What? Why?"

"Saw this and thought of you." He says, revealing the dildo with a flourish he will probably regret later.

She stares for a moment. She's not laughing at him, so at least he doesn't have to pretend this was entirely a joke. But there's certainly an amused light in her eyes as she takes in the sight.

"Why would I need that?" She asks, a little too casual. "I've already got a real cock just like it."

He grins. So it seems he wasn't entirely wrong to think this is more than a bit of convenient sex. She seems to think there's permanence and possessiveness at play, too.

"It's not quite the same." He points out. "Mine lists right slightly."

"It _curves_." She corrects him firmly, as if this is something she has already thought about. Knowing Clarke, she probably has.

He shakes his head. That's not the point. The point is that she still looks somewhere between amused and curious, but that she's not reached forward to take her gift out of his hand.

"Don't you like it?" He asks, worried. "I thought you might want to use it when I'm away. And I thought – yeah. It's a gift."

She frowns for a moment. It's her thoughtful frown, he's pretty certain, not an annoyed or sad frown. But all the same, it bothers him.

Then she pulls the rug out from under his feet with considerable force.

"You know, anyone else might have just tried saying _I love you_. But sure. I'll take the dildo. It looks like a good dildo."

He gasps. "I do love you." He clarifies, defensive.

"I guessed. You're standing in my room holding a dildo you just got me in case I miss you while you're away." She points out.

"I'm sorry for trying to get you a gift." He's annoyed, now. And hurt, and more than a little embarrassed. He's here accidentally spilling his heart out to her and she doesn't even like the damn dildo.

"I love you too." She mutters, visibly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry I didn't get you a fleshlight to say it. I'm not sure the grounders would have the materials to make one. And I'm guessing if there are any left from before the bombs they're gross by now. But maybe -"

"Clarke. You're rambling."

She sucks in a breath. "Yeah. Sorry. Nervous."

"I know. Me too. Love is scary, huh?"

She nods. He sets down the dildo on her bedside table, then sits on the bed at her side and pulls her in for a hug. Physical comfort has always been what they do best. No, that's neither true nor fair. Supporting each other has always been what they do best, and physical comfort is just one part of that.

Clarke shifts on the bed a little so she's sitting half in his lap, leaning up against him. This is good. This is calmer, less combative teasing and prickly insecurity than they were working with just now. He holds her tight, presses a couple of kisses to the back of her neck.

"We'll be OK." He reassures her. "And even if we're not – wouldn't you rather seize this chance to be happy while we can? If we're going to die in Praimfaya, I'd rather you died knowing how much I love you."

"You too." She murmurs. It's not much, but coming from Clarke, it means the world.

He holds her a bit longer. She relaxes back against him, and he keeps kissing her neck and shoulders. She sighs, reaches back to squeeze his knee gently. Encouraged, he keeps going, pulls her shirt aside to kiss more skin, eases his hand past her waistband and towards her crotch.

"No." She stops him with a hand over his.

"Clarke?"

"You've just spent all that time waving a dildo at me. I'm going to need you to fill me up with more than a finger or two."

He laughs. This is better. This is Clarke relaxing, accepting that a love confession does not have to leave her frozen with fear for the rest of the night.

"You want my cock, or you want your new toy?" He asks her lightly.

"Your cock. The dildo is only for when you're away, remember?" She teases.

He laughs some more. Clarke has always had a way of bringing out the joy in his life, even when death is breathing down their necks.

He urges her out of his lap, makes a start on undressing her. As usual, being Clarke, she is not one to stand idly there while he fusses over her. She tugs his shirt off over his head, tries to get to his belt buckle but takes an elbow to her forearm as she does so.

"Sorry." He laughs yet again. A week ago, he thinks, he would have found that mortifying. He _did_ find it mortifying, in fact, how awkward things were the first couple of times. It takes a while to learn how a new partner's limbs fit with his, and he understands now that it's OK to laugh along the way.

"I forgive you." She says sweetly. "You did get me a nice gift, after all."

"So now you like the dildo?" He asks, brow cocked, as he finishes undressing himself to help her out.

"No. That's not the gift I was talking about." She swallows, looks away. "I was talking about – about love."

He kisses her for that, full on the lips, one hand flying to tangle in her hair, the other to her waist to pull her flush against him. She loves him, and she thinks his love is a _gift_ , and he's pretty sure life doesn't get better than this, on the ground.

They don't kiss for long. Clarke seems very worked up, and he guesses that has something to do with those minutes he spent waving a dildo in her face and talking about love. She's already trying to grind against him as they stand, making frustrated little groans as she's too short to really grind against his cock even on her tiptoes.

He takes pity on her, urges her back onto the bed. She collapses willingly – almost desperately – into a sprawling mess of limbs, her legs open, her eyes already half-shut with arousal.

He doesn't make her wait any longer. He's not sure he could wait much longer himself, if he's being honest. He has always got off on Clarke's enjoyment, her approval, her implicit endorsement of what he does to her and for her. So the sight of her as eager as this has him throbbing and needy.

He eases inside of her, hears her whimper in welcome. He strokes her cheek with a thumb as he gives her a moment to get used to him.

"Move." She orders, short and sure of herself.

"Trying to order me about?" He teases.

" _Please_ move."

"That's it. I like it when you beg."

"Please move, Bellamy. Please. I need you to fuck me."

He gasps. He's not used to hearing her talk like that. Maybe buying that stupid dildo has broken down more than one barrier today, helped her work through a few other inhibitions. Maybe this is the start of a slightly more honest and communicative sex life.

He could get behind that.

He gives her what she wants. He rocks his hips against her, starting slow. But she doesn't like slow, it turns out. She digs her nails into his butt, urges him to move faster.

"I like it when you beg." He reminds her.

"Please. I need – more." She gasps. "Please. Faster."

"That's better."

He's panting himself, too, he notices. It's not good for his sanity, having Clarke grip him tight like this as if she's never going to let him go.

He does move faster, harder. He kisses her deeply, or as deeply as he can. Really they're both just gasping, now, mouths open, lips slotted messily together. It's too chaotic to be the kind of perfect sex he's heard about or seen or read about, more frantic than the too-neat, too-skilful sex he used to share with Bree at the dropship.

That's what makes it so good. It's raw, honest. Real. Just like his love for Clarke.

"Gonna come soon." Clarke pants against his lips. "Gonna make me come."

He grunts. He hopes it sounds like he's agreeing with her. That's what he's aiming for, but words are a little beyond him at the moment.

He moves ever faster, ever deeper. Clarke is clinging to him, her legs wrapped tight around his hips as she tries for an even better angle.

"I'm there. I'm there. I'm there." She chants as she falls apart.

She didn't need to bother telling him. He can feel it, can feel the force with which she clenches around him, tipping him over the edge in turn. He falls apart, spills inside of her, groaning a groan that's so loud the neighbours are probably horrified.

And then he lies there, on top of her, and waits for the world to stop spinning.

"I love you." She whispers, a little more sure of herself this time.

"I love you too." He assures her, with a soft kiss to her neck.

He forces himself to roll away. He will have other chances to hold Clarke tight, but he figures it's probably wise to let her breathe in between. They curl up together, a tangled mess of arms and legs and lazy kisses, and cuddle pointlessly for a few minutes. Pointless cuddling is his favourite kind – not a comforting hug because there is a crisis afoot, nor embraces that lead to sex. Just holding each other because they like to, because personal space shared with Clarke is better than personal space all to himself.

The dildo is still on her bedside table, Bellamy observes. Of course it is – that's where he left it. Jutting high over the table, it sits there, mocking him.

No. That's ridiculous. It's not mocking him. It's an inanimate chunk of stone – it doesn't have thoughts or feelings. That's why Clarke only plans to use it while he's away, why she loves _him._ He has emotions in bucketloads, but they're emotions he shares with her.

That's why she loves him, even if his cock does list to the right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
